


Candid Talk

by Stylin_Breeze



Series: Usuri Drabbles [13]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Futakuchi gets what's coming to him, Gen, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28793991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stylin_Breeze/pseuds/Stylin_Breeze
Summary: After the game, Kenji Futakuchi gripped Usuri's palm, leaned in close, and spoke low.“Let’s get some tea. My treat,” he said with businesslike dispassion. Usuri’s eyebrows shot up.His opponent departed without another word.
Relationships: Futakuchi Kenji & Usuri Michiru
Series: Usuri Drabbles [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566028
Kudos: 3





	Candid Talk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crows_Imagine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crows_Imagine/gifts).



> This is somewhat of a sequel to [Trash Talk](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21727999), but the two fics are independent and not required reading to understand the other.

The ball hit the floor.

Usuri’s muscles locked up. He didn’t see the missed received in the back row that spelled their loss in straight sets. The referee’s short then long whistle stung his ears. He stood there, sweat-covered arms frozen in place.

After last year’s defeat by Fukurodani, Usuri privately swore that, as Mujinazaka’s new captain, this would be the year they’d carry Micchan-sensei off the court on their shoulders. Now, back in Tokyo at the Inter-High, his chance to redeem the badgers of Oita was gone.

All because of that crafty captain from the “Iron Wall of Miyagi,” or whatever they called it.

The squads lined up and shook hands. Usuri beheld the sly opposing captain through the net, who reservedly extended a hand to him.

When Kenji Futakuchi gripped his palm, the Datekou player leaned close and spoke low.

“Let’s get some tea. My treat,” he said with businesslike dispassion. Usuri’s eyebrows shot up. His former opponent departed without another word.

Usuri slid into the booth at the open-to-the-public restaurant inside an anachronistic tavern called the Jaybird Inn.

“I had my manager scope out a place to eat and she recommended this one,” Kenji, already present, said. Usuri noted the obtuse way he spoke of “my” manager.

Futakuchi had prefaced his request to Nametsu by saying it was for “research” and shooed her along. Nametsu gave him a patronizing shrug, walked to the pokey inn across the street from their glamorous hotel, loitered there for three hours, and came back bragging that she’d tried ten different places but that the Jaybird was the absolute best!

Futakuchi swirled his lackluster tea in the cup, unimpressed with his manager’s apparent tastes.

“You want to talk about something?” Usuri pointedly asked after ordering tea for himself.

Invitation or no invitation, he found himself unable to get comfortable with the stranger who only yesterday he was figuratively trying to pound into dust on the court.

The waitress came by again, and Futakuchi ordered a full plate of egg rolls. Michiru proceeded to order raw oyster, in homage to his ace last year.

When they were alone again, Kenji stared at his guest with the same clinical demeanor he’d borne yesterday after the game. Usuri knew instantly the invitation wasn’t an altruistic gesture.

“I want to know how to beat Keiji Akaashi,” glared Futakuchi.

Usuri blinked, in part because he momentarily couldn’t recall where he knew a “Keiji Akaashi” from.

“Oh! Bokuto’s team’s setter!” he suddenly remembered. That’s when he realized Fukurodani was Datekou’s next opponent.

“Thank goodness that wonderboy is gone,” Futakuchi exclaimed, waving his hand in contempt at the thought of Koutarou Bokuto. “I studied a lot of game film on this setter and new captain on Fukuro-whatever, looking for his weakness. And in all the games he’s started in this year and last year, the only time he ever got benched was when they played you last year.

“As much as it pains me to ask you for help,” Kenji continued, “what’d you do to take him down?”

Usuri didn’t care for being treated like a lesser being by his victorious opponent, but at least he was getting tea and dinner out of it, so he would oblige.

He thought back to that disappointing nationals game in winter. Though he’d gotten Akaashi off the court for a little while, as Usuri’s plan proposed, it didn’t last. Keiji Akaashi not only came back into the game, he was more solid than ever.

The waitress delivered their respective meals.

“Two checks, please,” Futakuchi told her with a disgustingly sappy smile. Kenji noticed Usuri’s confusion after the waitress left. “Oh, yeah. You’re paying for your food.”

“What?! But you said it was your treat!”

“To _tea_ ,” Futakuchi emphasized.

“But you ordered food too.”

“Cos I was hungry. I didn’t tell you to get anything. That’s on you.” Futakuchi proceeded to suck out the insides of the egg roll like some B-movie alien consuming a human’s insides. “So, what’s your secret?” he smirked to get the conversation back on track.

Usuri frowned. He thought about Keiji Akaashi and the new scouting they’d done on him in hopes of a rematch with Fukurodani. And Usuri decided with a hint of an evil grin that, yes, he _would_ tell Kenji Futakuchi how last year they disarmed Keiji Akaashi….

The ball hit the floor. It was the middle of the second set. Futakuchi’s muscles almost didn’t want to move anymore. He stared through the net at the guy who’d just pulled off the most sublime setter dump.

For a set and a half, Futakuchi was following Usuri’s advice to a T, replete with Futakuchi’s own brand of taunting, yet Keiji Akaashi seemed masterfully immune to the same techniques that cowed him last year.

Fukurodani’s setter smiled at his galled opponent through the net.

“Sorry I had to drop that there. You tried,” he said with an unreadable mix of empathy and ribbing. Futakuchi was ready to snap when the coach called a timeout.

On the Fukurodani bench, second-year setter Anahori pranced over to the captain.

“If you’re feeling tired, I’m ready to go anytime!” he chimed, but Akaashi replied with a cool grin. The other third-years laughed off Anahori’s enthusiastic offer, expressing full support for their calm and collected captain.

Watching from afar, team manager Kaori Suzumeda smiled. Datekou’s tactics reminded her of Mujinazaka’s last year, namely of trying to mess with the setter’s head. Ever since Bokuto and the other enviable upperclassmen departed though, Akaashi didn’t second-guess himself anymore. He had unswerving confidence now, although it made the captain no less weird in her eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Akaashi chuckled, not oblivious to the familiar tactic. “Compared to last year, this guy’s just petty.”

In the stands, Usuri leaned lazily on the railing, peering down at the game.

Michiru knew full well Keiji Akaashi was different this year and had devised a whole new strategy for taking the team down, if they were to have advanced to this round.

He chuckled. If the “Iron Wall’s” captain didn’t want to do his own research, then Usuri was under no obligation to tell him that last year’s tactics wouldn’t work.

**Author's Note:**

> It occurs to me this fic is not the first time I’ve begun a scene with “The ball hit the floor” aslksanlfa
> 
> If you want to request an Usuri drabble, [click here](https://stylinbreeze60.tumblr.com/post/637312162850865152/stylinbreeze60-will-breeze-celebrate-usuris) for info!


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